


Candy Cane

by orphan_account



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: M/M, and anton totally ships them, these two are idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 09:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10085516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Never trust a German to teach you French.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was a collab between [ icarushugo ](http://icarushugo.tumblr.com/) and [ hleclercq ](https://hleclercq.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. We hope you enjoy it!

                Porter sighs and wipes at his eyes, he’s tired but he desperately wants to talk to Hugo. The time difference between the two of them is hard. It always seems to be the middle of the night for one of them when the other becomes available to talk.

                But it’s been almost a full week since they’ve had enough time and energy to video chat with each other and no amount of tiredness would stop Porter from seeing Hugo, plus he has something to show him. Or rather tell him.

                Porter’s been practicing all week but nerves still flutter in the pit of his stomach. No matter how many times Anton’s reassured Porter that he’s pronouncing it right, he still has to worry. It’s a simple phrase in French, one that Anton assures him is common amongst friends and doesn’t mean anything terrible.

                Porter’s computer chimes and he accepts the incoming call almost before it’s gotten the chance to ring. Hugo’s slightly pixelated face appears in the middle of the screen, and he too looks tired but happy. “Salut, Porter! How’s it going over there all the way across the ocean?”

                Porter laughs. “Hey to you too, Hugo! It’s been… going. You know how it is. How about you?”

                Hugo smiles at him, “it’s been good. I finished a few songs for the album. I’ll send them to you later and tell me what you think?”

                Porter smiles back, “of course.”

                The fact that even after knowing Hugo for almost ten years they still love to share their music with each other makes him happy.

                “I have something to tell you.” Porter says after a few seconds of silence.

                “Yea?”

                A small pit of anxiety lurches in Porter’s stomach as he tries to remember exactly how Anton taught him to pronounce the phrase. It takes him another few seconds to really feel like he’s got a grasp on it enough to say it aloud.

                “Tu es mon petit trognon,” Porter says, and it doesn’t sound half bad. There’s dead silence on the other end, though.

                Hugo’s eyes are huge. “Port, do you even know what that means?” Hugo finally gets out, and Porter swallows hard.

                “Anton told me it was something you told your best friend?”

                “Oh, mon Dieu, I’m going to have to kill him!” Porter’s starting to guess that what Anton told him was not the actual meaning. “Porter, when you translate it literally what you just said means ‘you are my little apple core.’”

                Porter’s about ready to die. “Oh. My. God.”

                “But that’s not what it actually means.” Hugo’s full-on grinning now, and his amusement is clear even through the terrible resolution. “You just called me your honey.”

                Scratch about ready to die, Porter’s _completely_ ready to die. He’s positive Hugo can see how hard he’s blushing, and Hugo’s chuckling is not helping, thank you very much.

                “I could teach you a few expressions, if you’d like?” Porter finally peers out from between his fingers. Unlike Anton, Hugo’s intent seems fine, so Porter shrugs.

                “Sure, thanks!”

                Hugo readjusts so he’s a little closer to the camera. “D’accord. So, how about this one? Tu es mon sucre d’orge.”

                Porter raises an eyebrow but goes along with it. “Tu es mon sucre d’orge?”

                “Yup! Just pronounce the first ‘r’ a little bit more.”

                “Tu es mon sucre d’orge.” A bell rings in the back of Porter’s head as he recognizes one of the words. “Hugo, doesn’t ‘sucre’ mean sugar?”

                “Yeah, it does.”

                “So, what does that expression mean?”

                Hugo smirks. “’You are my candy cane.’”

                Porter hides behind his hands again, feeling the blush rise in his cheeks again. “Why is that a phrase I should know?”

                Hugo’s still smiling, looking at the other’s form through the shitty pixels. “It’s a term of endearment over here!”

                “I don’t think I’m going to use that one.” Porter replies, but his voice has a small hint of laughter in it.

                “But it’s _cute_!”

                “It’s _weird_ , Hugo.”

                They’re both laughing at this point, and Porter feels a little better about his first mix up at this point.

                “Can’t you teach me something useful? Something that won’t get me slapped if I said it to somebody?” Porter says after they calm down a bit.

                “You can google the easy words, Port. I’m teaching you the lovely phrases you don’t hear often.”

                “There’s a reason for that, I’m sure.”

                Hugo huffs, “I’m trying to be cute with you and you’re just making fun of my beautiful language.”

                Porter’s mouth opens, then closes just as quickly. He definitely didn’t hear that right, surely Skype messed it up.

                “You’re what?” He asks, an air of disbelief in his voice.

                “I was flirting with you. Were you not trying to do that to me?”

                Hugo feels some anxiety well up inside him now, did he not read the situation right? Surely that was Porter’s intention with what he said.

                Porter still can’t believe it. “You… were flirting with me. Because you thought I was hitting on you.”

  
                He sighs and runs a hand over his eyes. He seriously needs to be thinking about this on a few more hours of sleep.

                “Hugo, Anton taught me the wrong phrase. I thought it meant something different.”

                Hugo’s face visibly falls as he closes himself off from Porter. “Oui, d’accord, c’est bon-“

                “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t mean it.” Hugo freezes. “I just would have probably phrased it differently.”

                Hugo doesn’t know what to feel, he feels like an idiot for what he said, and Porter’s not making it any better. He’s pretty sure his friend is just trying to let him down gently at this point. God, could they even be friends after this?

                “I have to go.” Hugo says quickly, hanging up on the skype call before Porter can say anything else.

                He closes skype, and then turns his laptop off. He just really wants to be alone right now, with the thoughts running through his mind.

                He moves away from his desk to his bed, where he brings his legs up to his chest and curls in on himself and just _thinks_.

                He can vaguely hear his phone buzzing across the room but he’s almost certain it’s Porter and he’s not sure he can stand to talk to him for a while.

                Hugo lets his hair cover his face as some tears fall from eyes, matting parts of his hair from the salty water. He’s such an idiot, why did he say that to his friend.

                After a couple hours of crying he gets up, he has a headache, and he definitely needs to wash his hair now, but he finally feels like he can check his phone.

                Just as he expected, 20 missed calls from Porter, 4 voicemails, and about 27 texts. He knows he won’t be able to hear Porter’s voice just yet, so he opens the texts first.

_‘answer your phone, hugo’_

_‘did you even hear the last part I said before you left??’_

_‘you’re making me feel like an idiot’_

_‘please hugo can’t we talk about this’_

_‘I didn’t mean I don’t like you I DO!! I just meant I would have worded it differently. pls answer the phone’_

_‘if you don’t answer me by the time I wake up I swear I’m going to france to tell u this’_

                The last two texts catch him by surprise.

                Maybe Porter’s serious about this whole thing. But that’s going to have to wait until later. Hugo stands up and wobbles a little as his legs refuse to work properly at first. He tosses his phone onto the bed and meanders his way over to the bathroom. Nothing feels quite right as he waits for the water to warm enough that he can wash his hair.

                Once he finally makes it out of the shower, he summons just enough energy to brush his teeth before he collapses on the bed. It’s still morning technically, not even afternoon, but he manages to curl up and fall back asleep.

                It’s dark when he wakes up, and he sits up with a jolt. He didn’t respond to Porter. “Putain de merde!” He curses, knowing Porter must be awake already.

                Sure enough, there are a few new notifications on his phone.

                He missed a few texts from some other friends, but he opens Porter’s first.

_‘it’s been 12 hours, hugo, quit being an ass and just say something to me’_

_‘we can still be friends if u don’t want to date’_

_‘please answer your phone, I’m going crazy’_

                Hugo sighs, dialing Porter’s number and pressing the call button. Porter picks up on the second ring.

                “Salut.” Hugo says.

                Porter doesn’t say anything at first, and Hugo thinks he’s crying, but he can’t be sure.

                “Porter?”

                “I didn’t think you’d call me back.” Porter replies after another few seconds. His voice sounds rough, like he’s been crying.

                “I’ll always call you back,” Hugo murmurs, and there’s a soft noise from Porter’s end of the line. Hugo’s pretty sure he’s resumed crying. “I’m sorry I didn’t respond earlier.”

                Porter’s quiet now. “Do you have an excuse?”

                “Non.” Hugo stares down at the white sheets, pulling at a thread that’s come loose. “Mais je suis vraiment désolé.”

                Porter’s huff is audible even across the connection. “That means ‘I’m sorry,’ right?”

                “Oui. I am truly sorry.”

                “Well, you’d better be.” Even though Porter’s tone is light, Hugo can tell he’s still upset and for good reason. “I bought plane tickets.”

                Hugo stops picking at the seam and stares at the phone in disbelief. “You’re serious?”

                “Yes, you idiot. And there’s no way in hell I’m paying the cancellation fees.”

                Hugo and Porter both laugh.

                “So…” Hugo trails off, he knows the other knows they need to talk.

                “Can we just talk about it when I get there, I’m tired. I’ve been crying over _you_ all night. My flight lands at noon tomorrow and I want to sleep before I go to the airport.” Porter replies.

                “I’m sorry. I’ll be there to pick you up.” Hugo replies.

                There’s silence on both ends for a few seconds, before Porter yawns.

                “Oh, and Hugo? Tu es mon sucre d’orge.”

                Hugo laughs, as Porter ends the call. “I told him it was cute,” he thinks to himself.


End file.
